To say something of purpose.

Direction exists
in this way:

you are either falling
into the ocean or

finding your way
back to it. The pelicans

show us this, and
the plastic bags, and

the salmon rot
upstream to set

their children
falling toward

the sea. To say
rain: a holding

of sound. To say
the cloud trembles

excitedly into rain
and the streets

filled with noise:
lullabies. To say

rain: a chain
of islands. To say

this time water
is the only whole,

the only solid
and the emptiness

filled only by rain.
Rain inverts

our seeing: the map
shows flecks of water

foregrounded against
the dull expanse

of sky and earth.
The ocean appearing

at once, because it broke
apart. Upon returning

to the sea, the pelican,
the plastic bag, the police

and their bloated
victim appear

like drops of rain
briefly disturbing

a puddled pothole.
In truth, we storm

like wolves from the sea,
gnashing our teeth, and

return wise as whales
and full of ourselves

to be suspended always
in falling.


1 Comment

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One response to “To say something of purpose.

  1. nikolai

    I like that. Thanks

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